


Love Lessons

by chicken_neck



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Ambiguous Relationships, Character of Faith, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, a lot of catholicism bashing, but it’s okay because I was baptised catholic, so my hatred for the church is like self hatred, which is extremely catholic.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-27 03:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17154605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicken_neck/pseuds/chicken_neck
Summary: “I’m aware that your primary concern is probably like – human suffering and gang warfare or whatever. But I think there’s a deeper problem, and forgive me for the tangent, but I don’t think you know how love works.”Foggy takes it upon himself to teach Matt how love works. As bros.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desmnathus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desmnathus/gifts).



> A Christmas gift for my dearest Christina, who likes to see Foggy, Karen, and Matt being good and nice to each other. Karen kind of wrote herself out of this one though sorry. I think she was too busy.
> 
> The extracts in italics are from an article I truly do not recommend you read, on a website I do not recommend you visit. It’s all ‘how to make a male scorpio love you’ and ‘what to do if your husband doesn’t respect you’. Straight women deserve so much better than they get. But, for citation purposes the article can be found: https://oureverydaylife.com/love-languages-5533438.html

A week after Foggy conceded the DA race, Matt was brooding again. 

 

Karen and Foggy made some significant eye contact about it, but there was no time to talk. Their temporary office space was open plan, but it also happened to contain a boxing ring and smell perpetually of old socks. They spent every waking hour working on setting up a law firm 2.0.

 

Well, Foggy was spending his every waking hour on it. Of course, Matt was spending all day resurrecting the firm  _ and _ spent all night prowling the city dressed like catwoman. Karen was spending all day with Matt and Foggy and somehow also finding time to keep writing for the Bulletin. So much for layabout millennials, Foggy thought dully, most nights.

 

So, Foggy decided not to rope Karen into Matt-sitting duty. It didn’t seem like a super great idea to enlist his workaholic, traumatised best friend in taking care of his other workaholic, traumatised best friend. His workaholic, relatively un-traumatised girlfriend was no help. Marci’s advice was a simple “man up or shut up.” 

 

Well.

 

Foggy was never great at shutting up. 

 

All said, he was alone when he finally cornered Matt about it. Or, was cornered. Semantics.

 

Matt froze, leaning inside his own living room window. Outside, the wind was howling. A few drops of fell onto the floor, drips from Matt’s costume. Hopefully not blood. Foggy couldn’t tell in the dark. 

 

“Foggy,” Matt said in his vigilante voice, then coughed and said, in an embarrassed and normal tone “What are you doing in my - apartment?” almost to himself he added, “I didn't hear you in here?”

 

Which was a bad sign from Mr. Super Sense. It also maybe said something about Matt’s ideas of normalcy that he would find Foggy in his apartment at 3am and be  _ embarrassed _ about it. 

 

Foggy closed the documents he’d been reading on his tablet and tried not to feel too much like a middle-aged wife waiting up in her hair curlers for her drunken husband to roll home from the bar. “I mean, I pay the bills. I have a key.” He shrugged, “I figured you could hear my heartbeat two blocks out, anyway, text me to go away if you didn’t want to talk.”

 

“I uh,” Matt landed wetly inside and pulled off the cowl of his Princess Bride get-up. “I was distracted by ah. Something.”

 

The rain and bandana had plastered his hair to his skull, and without his glasses he looked distressingly vulnerable. Foggy’s heart maybe melted a little at that. He never wanted this to be a confrontation, he just wanted Matt to be okay. 

 

“Yeah, I got that,” said Foggy, softly. “You’re distracted a lot recently. What’s with that?”

 

Matt shook his head, pulling off his shirt as walked to his bedroom. “It’s, it’s nothing.” 

 

Foggy turned in his seat to watch Matt’s retreating back – as bruise-mottled as it was muscled, though it was hard to tell shadow from bloodstain in the billboard’s light. “It’s something bad enough that you didn’t notice my, honestly very husky breathing in your very own bat cave. I’m your friend and I’m worried.” Foggy adopted the tone of his hippest high school teachers “What’s up, bud?”

 

“Well the rain is a factor too,” called Matt defensively, from the bedroom. He’d left mirrored puddles all over the monastic floors of his ‘shabby chic’ living room. 

 

Foggy looked at the sad little dribbles across the floor, flickering colour to colour in the glaring neon light from outside. “I’m aware that your primary concern is probably like – human suffering and gang warfare or whatever. But I think there’s a deeper problem, and forgive me for the tangent, but I don’t think you know how love works.”

 

Matt was silent, and even without radar sense, Foggy could picture him perfectly. The shiny patches on his skin where his clothes had soaked through. Frozen completely, probably with a t-shirt or a towel hanging from his hand. He was perfectly still back there, not allowing himself to shiver, to react at all.

 

“God, you’re dramatic.” Foggy sighed. “come back out here, dude. Sit down. Get a towel or something.”

 

“I’m fine,” said Matt. There was some rapid scuffling sounds and he emerged in sweats and a hoodie, hair hastily half-dried. He was illuminated by white neon for a moment and yep - that was definitely a split lip. 

 

“No, Matt you’re  _ not okay _ and that makes me  _ sad _ because I  _ love you _ .”

 

Matt looked grim, guilty, grumpy. Typical. “I don’t want you to get caught up in – in the dangerous side of my life.”

 

Foggy ignored this. “Can’t really blame you for not knowing how this stuff works, I suppose. You didn’t have the world’s best intro to interpersonal care and support.”

 

“My dad was great,” said Matt sulkily, curling in on himself beside Foggy on his shabby old sofa.

 

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Foggy allowed, although he had some very strong words to share with Jack Murdock about letting his nine year old son drink booze and stitch up his dad, let alone the whole orphaning Matt for fame and glory thing. “But you gotta admit that well. Kids raised in institutions can have difficulty living outside of those institutions...”

 

Matt tied himself even more tightly into his misery guilt knot, but didn’t contradict him. 

 

Foggy grimaced as his brain reminded him that, yeah not only was there  _ Catholic orphanage _ trauma bullshit (And what was this? 1940?) to consider, but  _ shithead sensei human weapon  _ trauma bullshit. He took a steadying breath. “But you know what? It’s fine. Because, not to brag, but Matt, we were very good at college. Let's see if I can't give you some remedial lessons in how love works.”

 

“Foggy…” said Matt warily. But, hey, 'wary’ was a step up from 'guilty’ in Foggy's book.

 

“I acknowledge that this sounds like the start of a porno, buddy. but I’m not taking that angle.”

 

Wary, unhappy, disbelieving. Foggy watched the expressions chase each other across Matt’s shadowed face, knowing how far they’d already come that he was even letting Foggy even see this.

 

“I'm gonna teach you some remedial love lessons. No homo.” he clapped Matt manfully on the shoulder, then thought better of it and pulled him into a hug. “yeesh, while we’re on porno statements, let’s get you warmed up a little, you are  _ freezing. _ ” 

 

And if it took Matt a full 30 seconds to relax under Foggy’s grip well, baby steps. Once he hugged Foggy back, it was with the fervour of someone who didn’t want to ever let go.

 

**Words of Affirmation**

 

_ Saying "I love you," giving compliments and making positive statements about your loved one is one way of showing love. […]. When speaking this love language be specific in your compliments and words of praise. For instance, instead of saying, "You're a great driver," tell him, "I feel so safe when you're driving. You really know how to drive in the city." _

 

Foggy started the next day. Words? That was easy.

 

What wasn't easy was facing moulding old gym which served as the offices of Nelson, Page, and Murdock while they searched for a premises that didn't smell like decades of man sweat. But Karen wasn’t in today, the opportunity for Matt Vulnerability was too good to pass up.

 

The man himself arrived an hour after Foggy, limping a little too much for someone who had said that he was gonna stay in for the rest of the night, a full eight hours ago. Limping way too much for someone agreed that he needed a healthier “work”-life balance less than a week ago, honestly. 

 

Well, no time like the present. “Hey Matt, the tenacity with which you adhere to your morals is something I really admire about you.”

 

Matt froze like a cat caught shitting on the carpet. “Thank you?” He said, slowly unwinding his scarf.

 

Foggy leaned back in his chair, power posing like he would across a boardroom table. “l know I criticise your methods a lot, so I thought I'd reiterate that I think your lack of complacency regarding like, the suffering of the world is a sign of astounding goodness. It’s a testament to your character. I respect you for it.” 

 

“I'm, uh, thank you? Again?” Matt’s voice was as hoarse as when he did his shitty batman impression.

 

“I'm not making fun of you, Matt. These are all true feelings, thoughts, and beliefs I have about you.”

 

Matt was hovering halfway through the action of taking his coat off, arms frozen mid-air. Foggy could see his lawyer brain twisting and evading, trying to find some hole in Foggy's defence, some twist or tremor of his heartbeat that could prove that this was some big prank the universe was playing on him. 

 

“You'd know if I was lying, buddy. I mean it when I say I love you. In fact, on that point,” Foggy relaxed himself, letting some truly gooey affection seep into his voice. “Hey, Matt, I really really love you.” 

 

“I love you too,” said Matt weakly. “Could you – can I take my coat off before you compliment me anymore?” 

 

Foggy grinned and swivelled back to his laptop. “Sure thing, buddy! Your comfort is important to me.” 

 

Foggy focused on his paperwork again. Most of it was relating to the legal and tax limbo of a law practice out of practice, where one partner was working for a different firm for part of the year but technically was a small business owner and therefore self-employed and oh god was Matt ever legally declared dead? What does that do to his assets? What does that do to his  _ bar license _ ? 

 

That nest of thorns proved absorbing enough that he didn’t notice the afternoon flying past him until Matt dropped a paper-wrapped sandwich between him and his keyboard. Reality clicked back into place. Suddenly, Foggy was ravenous.

 

“Oh wow, I didn’t even notice it was past lunch, thanks buddy.”

 

“Your stomach noticed,” said Matt, hovering beside Foggy’s desk with a tiny hint of a smile, “I couldn’t focus with all the growling.” 

 

The sandwich wafted greasy deliciousness from the desk between them. Foggy was light all of a sudden, in response to the sandwich, the smile, to all of it. “It was really wonderful of you to get this for me. You’re a thoughtful friend, Matt. The little actions you take - the ways you look out for me and Karen – we notice it. It matters a lot.”

 

The smile dropped from Matt’s face, replaced by his well-worn look of agonised Catholicism. He contorted for a few moments before he spoke, “Foggy. I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, I do but. You can’t keep saying these things.” He took a deep breath, and continued raggedly, “I don't  _ deserve _ it.”

 

“Au contraire, mon frère,” said Foggy, unwrapping his sandwich. It smelled like care, affection, and melted cheese. “You don't get to decide who deserves my love. I'm a free agent baby.”

 

The agonised Catholic contortions continued wordlessly as Foggy chewed and swallowed his first bite. 

 

“I'm gonna love you for the whole rest of my life, man,” he continued, “whether you deserve it or not. Get used to it.” 

 

“You don't know that. I could do- Foggy I could let the devil out at any time.” His face was bitter, “I could do something unforgivable. I don't deserve your - your love,” he said again, helplessly.

 

“Tough shit my man!” Foggy tapped Matt on the chin so he jerked his head up in (feigned?) surprise. “I love you! My choice!”

 

“I-” Matt was panicking. There was no better word for it. His hand twisted and crumpled the bag containing his own sandwich. 

 

Foggy grabbed his arm. “You dramatic goddamn - See this is why you need remedial love lessons. You don't get to choose if you deserve love! It’s my love! I decide! You don’t have any power over it!” 

 

Matt sighed, and Foggy felt a tiny amount of tension ease out of his arm. Apparently the solution was to take it out of Matt’s power. Fucking Catholics. 

 

“Can we stop with the theatrics now? I love you and that includes your penchant for drama but my sandwich is going cold. The sandwich which you got me and I really appreciate and I love you.”

 

Matt tensed again, relaxed again. Some kind of battle was raging within or something. Foggy continued with his sandwich. 

 

“Okay,” Matt said, finally. Very softly. “I love you too.”

 

**Acts of Service**

_ When your wife's primary love language is acts of service, you convey your affection for her by planning and performing thoughtful gestures that you know will please her. To use this language, it is necessary to "speak her dialect," which requires knowing her well enough to know what she likes. For instance, if she appreciates a clean car you could surprise her by washing her car. And it's hard to go wrong when you make her favourite food or make certain her favourite shirt is clean for the weekend. _

 

Another week, another office space, and another time Matt barely got into the office before lunch. While the kingpin was taken care of, the gangs of Manhattan abhorred a vacuum and Matt’s night life was as busy as ever gathering intel on the new threats.

He was so focused on sorting the threads of the competing factions scrambling for a slice of hell’s kitchen that he was already sitting at his desk before he noticed that there was something - “does it smell different in here?”

“Oh no, is someone three doors down eating a bad burrito?” asked Karen, absently. She dragged a hand through her hair, casting a plume of sweat and shampoo scent into the air without looking up from her laptop. Matt could feel her absorption, every line of her body was angled towards the computer screen in front of her.

“No, it’s,” he struggled to articulate it in words anyone else could understand. The place smelled cleaner, but older, and also warmer and gentler. The smell was of old wood scrubbed til it shone, the smell of polish and the residue vinegar leaves after it’s burned off. Underpinning it all was the subtle spiced smell of preserved meats, no longer overbearing. The comfortable bodysmells of Foggy and Karen were to the fore, the office smells of paper and ink and machines, but almost everything underneath that was gone. Of course, the rest of the building still smelled like a butchers, but this room. “It smells like it’s been cleaned? Really thoroughly?”

“Hmmm I didn’t notice,” Karen was about three hours into a research spiral and wouldn’t notice the building burning down around her.

“Awh, I’m glad you picked up on it buddy, I was starting to think no one was gonna notice my hard work.” Foggy came through from their tiny kitchenette, precariously balancing three cups of coffee.

“I heard you coming in,” he said, setting a cup in front of Matt. “Karen probably didn’t. She doesn’t notice anything. She’s either got the world’s worst sense of smell or she is trying deliberately to deflate my ego.”

“Mmmmh,” Karen blinked away from her screen and stretched like a cat towards the coffee, “would that be such a bad thing? Would the world stop spinning if your unshakeable self belief took a knocking?”

“Oh Karen,” Foggy stood just out of her reach, holding the two warm cups of coffee against his chest, “my unshakeable self takes regular knockings and let me tell you, it only makes me believe in myself more.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sexual harassment. Matt is that a sex thing? I think we’re being sexually harassed?”

“Karen, Matt’s a good Catholic boy he doesn’t know how sex works.”

“Now that is discrimination on religious grounds, I’m going to get the ACDA on your case, Foggy.”

Matt chuckled, propping his face on his fist, “You’re going to get the American Choral Directors Association onto him?”

“No, shut up Matt, the the ACU, the ...” Karen had risen half out of her seat, “…the ACT U- The  _ ACLU  _ is going to come down so hard on you if you don’t give me that coffee right now.”

Foggy seemed to consider his options for a moment, before passing her both cups. Karen accepted them with murmured thanks and drained half of one before she sat fully back into her seat.

“Anyway,” said Foggy, turning back to Matt, “it occurred to me on Friday that the office behind a meat shop might not be the most pleasant environment for my super-sensory crime-fighting sniffer dog friend.”

“That’s very kind.” Matt had been acclimatising to the potent smell of blood and salami in their new Nelson Meats offices. Only now it was removed did he realise that it had been a constant annoyance, that part of his attention was always focused on ignoring it. “But, when ... how did you do this?”

“A lot of water,” Foggy admitted. “Some research. And the indomitable power of the Nelson spirit. Many hands make light work, even if most of those hands belong to preteens you've bribed.”

“I - Foggy.” Even to his own ears Matt sounded weak, like he was about to cry over cleaning products.

“Yeah I know I know,” said Foggy, his blasé tone belied his blush, the hormone rush and uptick in body temperature - he was happy. He was happy that he’d done something that made Matt happy.  “I shouldn't have promised to bring those 12-year olds to a 15s movie but in my defence, they did a great job.”

“They - did.” said Matt, haltingly.

There was something awkward in the air now. A not-quite discomfort. Matt felt it in himself and in Foggy. Karen was locked in the bubble of her work, drinking coffee and typing one-handed.

Foggy did this for Matt. If he could even smell the decades of grime and blood that had haunted this room, it was something he grew up with and was used to. Karen hadn’t commented on it even once. They’d cleaned out the office in a way fit for them and their clients when they’d first moved in. This was something Foggy had done only for Matt, knowing only Matt would notice. It must have taken him most of the weekend.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for doing this for me.”

“Gotta have you on top of your game, buddy! - no. Wow I almost pulled a Matt on that one.” Foggy took a deep breath and continued more sincerely. “I did this for you because I want our office to be a place you are comfortable. I want you to be comfortable, because I love you and your comfort is important to me.”

They both sat in the aftermath of that statement for a little. For a second of perfect equilibrium, Matt was entirely tuned into Foggy, his pulse slowing and levelling off, the tension in his muscles unwinding breath by breath. For a moment, Matt wasn’t in his own body, he existed entirely apart from the aches and bruises and the tiredness that were constants of his existence. For a moment, he matched Foggy, in happiness and peace.

“Oh, hey uh,” said Karen, and the world ballooned suddenly to exist beyond the tangle of MattandFoggy. “Ditto. On the loving you thing. Like I didn’t spend my weekend bullying teenagers for you, but you know, your comfort is important to me.”

She gestured expansively with her mostly-empty coffee cup and Matt found himself smiling, helplessly. “Thanks, guys. It means a lot.”   

  
  


**Quality Time**

_ If your partner complains that you never spend time with him, his love language is quality time. More than just spending minutes, hours or days in proximity to each other, quality time means focusing on him and your relationship. One of the main dialects of quality time, […] is quality conversation. Practice active listening by giving him your undivided attention, not interrupting, making eye contact and asking questions for clarity. Take an interest in what interests him and he will feel your love. _

  
  


The case load picked up. A growing number of their clients were journalists getting sued for defamation, which satisfied both Matt’s bleeding heart and Foggy’s need to keep the rent paid (figuratively speaking; there were some perks to getting your baby brother out of a loan-shark debt). Busy was good. Busy kept them focused and kept Matt from disappearing into vigilantism for weeks on end. Busy also meant they were all forgetting how to take a  _ goddamn _ break. 

 

“We should get dinner this evening,” said Foggy.

 

Karen made a noise of agreement in her throat but did not look away from the glare of her laptop screen. Matt didn’t react at all, still skimming his hands rapidly over his …braille documents. Looking for legal loopholes.

Their office set up was less miserable here than in the old gym but it was certainly …cosier. All three of their desks were set up in Theo’s tiny back room, Foggy could brush both Karen and Matt with the tips of his fingers from his desk. 

 

“I’m serious guys, it’s like,” Foggy checked the time on his computer, “holy shit it’s 10pm. We’re our own bosses here and I’m suing us for breach of labour laws.”

 

Matt sighed and took his hands off his readings, flexing his wrists like they were cramping. “Hmm, what are you thinking? There's a great Lebanese place two blocks away I've been smelling it all week, they do take out.” 

 

“I could go for take out,” said Karen, still typing rapidly.

 

“No,” Foggy shook his head firmly, knowing Matt would pick up the movement from his like, perfume fumes or something. The ‘no’ was for Karen’s sake because she  _ still hadn’t looked up _ . “Well. Yes, to Lebanese. But we're not ordering take out to our office as we pore over our case files, we're going to dust the crumbs off our suits and we're going to go to a restaurant and we're going to eat a nice meal. Together.”

 

“Pass,” said Karen, and Foggy leaned over to snap her laptop closed. “Hey!”

 

“This is a non-negotiable work commitment. You have to come, or you’re fired.” 

 

“I have another job. They pay me better.”

 

Matt took off his tiny dumb glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was warding off a headache. “you know, maybe we should just finish up for the night. Foggy’s right, it’s late.”

 

“Foggy’s point isn’t that it’s late, Foggy’s point is that we need to decompress together as  _ friends _ because our caseload is unreasonable and both of you are going to sneak off to your second jobs if I let you out of here.” 

 

“Foggy shouldn’t refer to himself in third person, it’s probably quite confusing for the blind guy in the office.”

 

“The blind guy has super senses. I think he can tell our voices apart, Karen.”

 

Matt still hadn’t let go of the bridge of his nose. “The blind guy has a name.”

 

“Well that’s great, blind guy, does the blind guy know a restaurant that won’t be a sensory hellscape for him? Preferably in walking distance?”

 

“I-“ Matt sighs in quiet acquiescence. “It’s Ramadan and iftar began an hour ago. I can hear the Lebanese restaurant from here.” He tilted his head, listening, “the Mediterranean grill on 52 nd , is a no go too - I, yeah, it’s a Friday night, nearly every restaurant in the city is going to be unpleasant.” 

 

He felt Foggy’s gentle sigh, the air displaced as he gave breath to his disappointment.

 

Matt couldn’t bear that disappointment, suddenly the gentle slump of Foggy’s dejected shoulders were the greatest injustice in the world. “Oh well, hey, we could order in and not work while we eat? Or go to someone’s apartment and order there! We could, we could catch a movie! Go for drinks. What do you think?” Foggy was still slumped against his desk, Matt turned his attention elsewhere. “Karen?”

 

“Ah, you know Matt, it is late.” Karen sighed, did that neck bop that she did sometimes for emphasis. The ‘what can you do’ bop. “Maybe we should just head home for the night. Try strike up one of those work-life balances Foggy keeps talking about.” 

 

Foggy’s head whipped up at that, “oh no you don’t, Page.” A storm brewed behind his words, “I know that tone. You’re taking my suggestion of a fun friendship time and turning it into an opportunity to go do – do journalist things!”

 

Karen blustered, “I am not, I was not going to go do that. I was going to go home. To sleep.” 

 

“She’s lying,” said Matt. 

 

Foggy turned to point an accusatory finger at Karen, the triumphant gesture stirring life into the stale office air. “See! Matt the human lie detector backs me up! You were using my humble offer for human companionship and intimacy to justify going out into the world and acting as a tool of justice in an unjust world! Why do my friends keep  _ doing _ that to me?” Foggy asked the air, “Why do I surround myself with people who prioritise truth and justice over a nice dinner with friends?”

 

Karen laughed, open mouthed and loose, the sound and warmth of it bathed the whole room. 

 

Matt crooked a smile. “You’re one of us, deep down.”

 

“That and you need our influence to counterbalance your truly terrifying and cut-throat girlfriend,” added Karen. 

 

Foggy raised his arms in a faux-surrender. “The woman I love is certainly the exception that proves the rule. I’m calling an old fashioned lock-in. I’m raiding my brother’s kitchen for whiskey and sandwich makings and not a Murdock, not a Page, not a Nelson is leaving this office until we are well on our way to merry.”

 

“Nooo,” said Karen, but Matt could feel the giddy jump in her heart beat, the rush of endorphins in her system, her posture pulling out of the furrowed concentration she’d been holding for days. 

 

Foggy’s fluid movement projected a matching wave of joy as he said, “you can’t deny me a chance to steal my brother’s booze. Do you know how much alcohol he stole from me as a teenager? He’s got so much payback coming for him.” 

 

And maybe Matt was okay with getting swept along with this. Maybe the streets would be okay without him for one night. Maybe, a small part of him was realising, it would be really great to spend a night hanging out with his friends. 

 

“You’re paying me overtime for this, right?” asked Karen. 

 

“That is a good point, Karen. Matt are we paying overtime for this.” 

 

Matt laughed, “well, if you’ll accept your wages in whiskey, sure.”

 

**Giving Gifts**

_ A visual symbol of affection, gift giving is fundamental to love. For the person whose love language is gift giving it is truly the thought that counts. Pay attention to the value your partner places on gifts and symbols to learn if his primary love language is gift giving. _

Matt was always a hard person to buy gifts for, and since Foggy found out about the super senses, it was impossible. He’d find himself reaching absently for something like sunscreen or a pair of gloves - a purely practical gift that Matt, eternally the Catholic, would never think to indulge in for himself - and then he’d stand frozen for 15 minutes quibbling the ways this object would make Matt suffer. There’s no way he’d actually  _ say so _ if the texture of the sunscreen was suffocating on his skin, if the gloves were like steel wire.

It was also beginning to dawn on Foggy that he had almost no knowledge of what Matt’s actual preferences were. If you’d asked him three years ago, he’d have said Matt liked quiet, tidy places without much clutter. He liked studying and the theory of law as a tool of justice, he liked soft fabrics, and like most lawyers he loved the moment when he identified a fatal flaw in someone’s argument. He was a consummate introvert, he liked interacting one on one, using his steady intensity to make people feel as if they were the centre of his universe for a minute or two.

Well, apparently Matt also liked beating up muggers in alleyways, enough that he invented a Kevlar clad persona to get away with it. Apparently Matt liked to lose blood with the constancy and devotion that some would call vocational.

It was fairly clear that his apartment was set up like a monk’s cell as some kind of self-flagellation tactic, not an appreciation for minimalism. While Foggy used to assume that Matt mostly owned things because he liked them - you know, like with  _ normal people _ \- the more he thought about it, the less true that seemed. Most of his belongings were accommodations for his blindness or his super-senses, others he put up with out of self-imposed asceticism. The odd trinket was there as a legacy of his childhood trauma, his occasional bouts of intense neatness was mostly a hangover from life in the orphanage. Out of that whole mess, finding out what that Matt actually liked was almost impossible.

Foggy had pretty much given up by the time he found the kitten.

\---

It was raining in sheets. The kind of rain that made Matt really happy, the kind that made most right-thinking people stay inside and avoid committing crimes. The kind of rain that washed the city clean and thundered against every surface, blanketing the usual city sounds and giving Matt a google-maps update of every physical structure for miles around.

It was also the kind of rain that broke umbrellas, seeped under collars, invaded Foggy’s dress shoes, and made catching a cab fucking impossible. It was miserable weather.

“I am so sorry about this, man” Foggy said, shaking out his broken umbrella in back hallway of Nelson’s Meats/the entrance way of Nelson and Murdock (and Page). “I got talking to Marina while I picked up the Pad Thai and there was some cats fighting out back of Trough, you know the new place on 3rd and 50th?”

The rain was so loud that Foggy hadn't even noticed the screeching cats, not until one darted out of the alleyway, almost tripped him up, and took advantage of his stumble to scale his trouser with its tiny, needle sharp claws.

“I mean it man I am so sorry about this,” he said, coming through the doorway to their office. “l’ll take it to the shelter when I get back from the station, but I am running really late and Theo hates cats. Wait I have to go meet Andy after the station but I will be back here in like, four hours max - can you keep an eye on a cat for four hours?”

Matt was sitting ramrod straight at his desk, hands frozen above his refreshable braille display. Every inch of him was angled towards towards the tiny kitten wrapped up in Foggy’s scarf.

“It was shivering so bad Matt. I think it’s only a baby. It was fighting three other cats at once I couldn’t leave it out there in that weather.” Foggy could hear the pleading, wheedling in his own voice. “Hope your, uh allergies - well they’re not allergies. I hope the cat doesn’t smell bad, I guess is my point.”

Matt’s posture had not relaxed one bit, but he loosened his jaw enough to say, “no, it’s fine. She’s fine. Is she okay?” What could he perceive of this little kitten to have him so tense about it? Was he about to tell Foggy that it had rabies, fleas, and mange? Was it really a government listening device cleverly designed to infiltrate the lives of soft-hearted lawyers?

 

Whatever the grand secret was, Matt  wasn't saying anything more. Foggy carefully unwound the kitten from his scarf, cradling her in the crook of his elbow instead. She mewled softly in protest, showing her needle teeth. Her soft baby fur was dry and fluffy now, barring some mats Foggy avoided looking too closely at. She blinked slowly up at him. “I think it’s okay. Did you say she? I don’t want to know how you can tell that.”

Matt looked embarrassed. “I mean, it might be a boy. It doesn’t really matter.” As if of all the shit Foggy had seen him do, gendering a cat was what he should be embarrassed about.

 

The kitten’s claws were firmly embedded in the sleeve of Foggy's third-best suit jacket. “Are you totally sure dude? I figured alley cats might not be super great on the super senses. I was hoping Karen would be here, she mentioned having a cat growing up so I thought she might know what to do with it. Like, I grew up with dogs I have no idea.”

 

“I am absolutely sure,” said Matt, using his most reasonable lawyerly voice, “that I can keep a kitten out of trouble for four hours. I’ll let her dry out completely, and then call some shelters.” 

 

Foggy hovered on the edge of indecision “Are you sure? Like I can’t let a cat loose in a deli but I can, I don’t know, make a few phone calls -”

 

“You’re already late, Fog. I’ll mind the cat. Go to the station.” 

 

“Uuuuuh.Okay.” Foggy placed the kitten softly on the worn wooden floor of the office. She blinked, taking in the room with interest. Foggy wondered if she’d ever been inside before. Her tiny bony tail stuck up like an aerial, lashing slowly back and forth. Foggy dropped his scarf in a messy pile next to her, she seemed to like it earlier. “I guess just grab some offcuts from the shop if it needs food. There’s - coffee creamer? If she needs milk...”

 

“Foggy. Go.”

 

Foggy went. 

 

\---

 

It was more like six hours later when Foggy got back to the office. Not that societal concepts like ‘people usually go home before 8pm’ had any impact on his workaholic colleagues.

 

The place didn’t look any worse for wear, anyway. Karen was taking a phone call in the kitchenette, Matt was still at his braille display, in exactly the same position he’d been in when Foggy left in fact. The kitten was apparently gone.

 

“Hey Matty,” Foggy trailed a hand absently over Matt's shoulders as he walked past his desk. “How's the furball?”   
  
“She's doing well.” Matt smiled to himself. “I named her Thurgood.”   
  
Named. Huh. “oh that's … cool! Have you uh, have you had any luck finding a shelter?”   
  
Matt turned away from his desk, his tiny private smile was growing into a joyful uninhibited expression he almost never made sober, “I'm actually, thinking of keeping her? I- we brought her to the vet and, she talked me through cat care and I think I can do it. The vet says she's very healthy for a stray, just needs to put on some weight, and get her shots.”   
  


Foggy was poleaxed. After all these years of guide dog digs, apparently Matt was a cat person. 

 

When he thought about it, of course Matt would like cats. He was a loner weirdo who spent his evenings scaling buildings and picking fights. His preferred flirting method was casting out a calculated little smile and waiting while people fought to fall into his lap. He showed affection by sitting in the same room without talking to you. Really the only surprising thing was if Matt liked cats this much, why didn't he have a bigger soft spot for himself?    
  
Well. Catholicism.   
  


“Allllllrighty then. Where is the little bundle of joy right now?”

 

Karen walked in from the kitchenette just then, wearing Foggy’s scarf and - the cat. “Xiu is willing to testify, I think she’ll be up to it, honestly.” she said as if it was totally normal to have a second head emerging from the scarf around her neck, a tiny triangular head which was rumbling loudly. “-which is great because if we get her in the stand to discuss the altercation on the 27th,we’re golden.” 

 

Foggy sighed. “I liked that scarf, you know.” He said to Matt. “It’s blue, a really nice blue. It brings out my eyes. Heavy knit. Warm in winter.”

 

Karen laughed. “I think Thurgood would happily bring your eyes out for good if you tried to take it from her at this point.”

 

Matt was still grinning, swivelling gently on his desk chair. “That’s perfectly understandable. It smells like the man who saved her life.” 

 

“You’re completely right! She knows a good person when she smells one. Yes. She’s a clever baby. Aren’t you, my little angel girl?” Karen’s voice went ridiculously soft for the second half of that statement, and used one finger to stroke the kitten on her shoulder, held firmly in place by Foggy’s heavy scarf. The purring grew impossibly louder. Matt and Karen were besotted.

 

So. There were two of them, then. The Nelsons had kept mastiffs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS ONE CHAPTER TO GO, BECAUSE WRITING IS HARD.
> 
> There's a lot of mocking of Catholicism in this but I myself am a Catholic and I deem it Valid.
> 
> Catch me on tumblr @spindletrees


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah this was never meant to be a two chapter work. It's just that it is several times longer than any other piece of fanfiction I have written and I somewhat underestimated how long it would take me. 
> 
> Happy extra christmas present!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this at 3:30am please let me know if there are any errors in it I may not have spotted.

**Physical Touch**

 

_ Physical touch is a powerful communicator […]. A relationship with an individual whose primary love language is physical touch is in trouble without tender touches. Not to be confused with sexual intimacy, physical touch includes kissing, embracing, holding hands, a pat on the knee or other gentle touch. _

 

Oceans rise, empires fall, cases get resolved eventually. In the haze of work, Foggy’s perception of time skipped and stretched perhaps more than most people’s. But the cat was still a kitten the next time he saw her.

He’d let himself into Matt’s apartment to find Matt sitting very still, in the dark. The cat was limply draped around his neck, as if someone had decided his ragged old sweatshirt needed an ermine trim. She was purring like thunder.

“Foggy,” said Matt in his superhero voice.

“Hey,” said Foggy, like a normal person. “I got some treats for your baby.”

Matt still hadn’t turned his head or nodded in greeting. Technically Mr. Bat Sense didn’t have to, but his overall stillness did give the impression of one being held at knife point.

“Are you, uh, okay there buddy?” Foggy asked, flipping on the lights and dropping the cat treats and take out boxes on the kitchen counter.

“Yes,” said Matt, still in that low, gravelly tone, “I would help you with the food but, don’t want to disturb Thurgood. She’s sleeping.”

“Hmm.” It was also solidly possible that he had injuries to conceal, the bastard. “Pet ownership is still treating you well?”

Foggy saw a tiny amount of tension drop out of Matt's shoulders. “She has the tiniest teeth, Fog,” he said wistfully. “Her purring is louder than the billboard outside.”

Foggy snorted, upending the take out containers with a splat. “Are you saying that Thurgood ...purrs good?”

“Yeah,” sighed Matt happily. He brought up one hand to stoke the limp kitten. She purred louder, kneading his pec with her dangling claws.

Foggy carefully carried over the plates of noodles, to find Matt fumbling with his phone, hands so battered and knotted looking that Foggy was almost surprised he could move them at all.  Some of those cuts were definitely kitten scratches.

“I actually got a recording of her purring last night, it was so cute, do you want to hear it?" He asked shyly.

Foggy sighed. “Oh man, the lolcat revolution lost a valuable soldier when you went blind, buddy. I'm just gonna grab a beer,” - and to steel himself to pretend to care about the noises of a small vindictive animal - “and then you can lay it on me, okay?”

\---

After Foggy made appropriately appreciative noises at the cat, and they'd had a few beers besides, Matt said, very hesitantly, “what does she look like?”

“Huh? Oh.” Foggy had been lost in the gentle metronome movement of petting Matt's hair. 

They’d ended up tangled together on the sofa like they usually did on nights like this. Matt’s head was on Foggy’s chest, one ear pressing down like he wanted to bury himself in Foggy’s heartbeat. They’d been talking about law school or, baseball or. Something. 

Foggy had completely forgotten about the little cat now darting about Matt's living room. It was currently picking a very one-sided battle with the laces of an old boxing glove. “She's uhh, small? Fluffy. Vicious.”

“I know what size she is, Fog.” said Matt, one hand tracing the patterns of Foggy’s ‘what, like it’s hard?’ t-shirt. “I meant colours.”

“Oh yeah yeah right. Sorry, these hipster beers are strong.” Foggy took another swig from his current bottle. “I know microwbrews taste 'less stale’ or whatever but you gotta accept there's less, uhh like. Quality control legislation. And yeah yeah maybe you can smell of there's poison or whatever but it leaves average Joes like me getting WAY too drunk-”

Matt poked him impatiently in the side. “The kitten.”

“Yeah yeah, of course, of course. She's … tabby. Like, lightish brown with darker brown stripes.” Foggy had to twist to properly look at the tiny beast which was biting furiously at the glove laces. “Her paws are white though, the front ones. Higher on the left leg than the right. One of her ears is torn,” he stopped for a long pull of beer, “but you can probably tell that. Her eyes are tawney I think? Like a greenish yellow. But I'll check that later when I'm not gonna get my face clawed off for checking.”

“She’s not going to claw you, Fog.” Said Matt, rubbing the side of his face against Foggy’s chest, stubble rasping against the soft fabric. “She loves you.”

Foggy watched the kitten pull the priceless old boxing gloves onto itself, only so it could attack them more, surely damaging the ancient leather beyond repair. Matt started stroking his shin with one calloused hand. “Hmmm. Sure.”

“She does!” He drummed his fingers against Foggy’s stomach instantly. “She still sleeps on your scarf. She loves you.”

Foggy look down at the lumpy pile that was Matt in snuggle mode, and decided not to argue. With all the horrible things he did to his body, it was nice to see him like this, sleepy and relaxed, doing things because they felt good, and not overthinking it. “Oh hey,” he remembered, “I forgot about your love lessons.”

Matt pressed a sharp grin into the softness of Foggy’s chest. “you didn’t,” he said, muffled, “you were just being sneaky about it and hoping I wouldn’t notice.”

“Okay … maybe.” Foggy set down his beer with a clink and resumed patting Matt’s hair, “in my defence, you react to verbal affection like most people react to a paper cut.”

“I don’t react to papercuts,” Matt’s voice was still muffled in his chest. Foggy wondered idly what he was smelling in there. 

“And we’re all very proud of you for it.”

The kitten seemed to deem the boxing glove slain. She left her mangled foe in the middle of Matt’s spartan room and padded over to the sofa to mewl. Matt jerked half upright, and scooped her up to join them on the sofa.

Foggy silently watched the easy dynamic between Matt and cat. “How have you not collected a wayward pet on your vigilante work so far? I would have thought the path you trod is rife with kittens in trees.”

Matt hauled himself carefully upright to cradle the kitten in his lap. Foggy felt the absence of his warmth with the suddenness of a dam breaking. One of his legs flooded with pins and needles. He hadn’t noticed it going numb. 

Matt gently touched the kitten’s head with two calloused fingers. “Not many trees in Hell’s Kitchen,” he said, and hesitated before adding - “there’s always so much hurting out there, every night. If I let myself think about the animals too I -” The kitten gave a tiny yawn, displaying her needle-sharp teeth, and rubbed her tiny, fluffy head against the palm of Matt’s hand.

Foggy saw the look on Matt’s face as the kitten settled into sleep, breathing soft and contented. It made him want to get a time machine and dump a kitten on Matthew Murdock circa, before anything bad had ever happened to him. “I’m glad you get to keep this one safe,” he said, softly.

“She helps,” Matt said quietly, “she focuses me. I told you her purring is louder than the billboard? Even her breathing keeps me in the room. She’s better than the rain.”

Foggy made a gentle noise in his throat. The beers must have been very strong, because he found himself wanting to thank this tiny scratchy monster for her service to the Keep Matthew Michael Murdock Safe and Sane Trust.

In a moment of insanity, he reached over to stroke the exposed softness of her belly, where her ribcage grew and shrank with her gentle breathing.

A bad decision.

“AAAARG. Jesus Christ.” Foggy sucked on the pin-pricks in his hand. Should’ve got that tetanus shot. “I told you she doesn’t like me!”

Matt was giggling helplessly. “She doesn’t like anyone touching her stomach.” He said.

“You know, I did get that hint,” said Foggy, glaring at the kitten, who was now crouched low on Matt’s leg, her tail slashing in slow question marks back and forth.

“She’s very clear in communicating her boundaries!” said Matt, his face trembling with suppressed laughter. He placed his hand on the kitten’s tiny back, and her posture relaxed immediately as she preened under his attention.

“It absolutely is not. It’s demonic behaviour and you two deserve each other.”

Foggy glared at the cat, his eyes narrowing to slits. The kitten narrowed her eyes back, relaxed and peaceful.

Foggy raised his eyebrows. The kitten began to purr, sputtering like an old engine.

“I don’t like her,” he decided.

“She reminds me of Marci a little bit, sometimes,” Matt said mildly. “And me. And Karen.”

Foggy had been around while Matt taught himself that mild tone of voice, and noted the undercurrent of ‘with this statement, I have won the argument and we both know it’. “Fuck you,” he said.

Matt just sat there, cat purring in his lap, one eyebrow cocked like Foggy wouldn’t have a comeback.

“Fuck you,” he said, again, and rolled off the sofa, arranging himself in the ground until he was eye-to-eye with the kitten.

From here, it was clear how small and fragile she was, her entire body would be crushed if Foggy rolled his head wrong. She craned her tiny neck and nudged his cheek with her nose.

The kitten purred on. Something so tiny, but so happy and relaxed that she filled the whole room with it. Small and soft. A creature who picked fights with things much bigger than itself. A creature who absolutely could and would claw the shit out of anything if the situation arose, but who right now, among friends, was soft and radiant and fragile beyond measure.

So maybe Foggy had a type.

“Thurgood,” said Foggy begrudgingly. “It’s a good name.”

Matt smiled, tilting his face down so Foggy could see it. It was a genuine smile, not one of his charming, miserable, half-laughs, but a real soft show of emotion. His face was gentler from this angle. He looked less like a stunningly chiselled Adonis, more like the lumpy dork he was at heart.

“See, Foggy? You just had to learn her love language.”

Foggy rested his chin on Matt’s knee and felt the bones move underneath him. The kitten bumped her head against his. “You know, I think I’ll get the hang of it,” he said. “I think I’ve seen the dialect somewhere before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely lifted Foggy's T-shirt slogan from another fic but I do not remember which, if you know please tell me!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @spindletrees.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos much appreciated.


End file.
